


Worth Dying For

by AllumetteRouge (RedRaidingHood)



Series: Dead Like Them [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dead Like Me, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRaidingHood/pseuds/AllumetteRouge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck this. Name’s Jason Todd and I’m dead. You should thank me for taking your soul before you even realized that fucking bus would hit you. You’re welcome. Whatever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Dying For

The students were already packing up when Mr. O’Neil came to the end of his lecture. Huffing, Jason resigned himself to being surrounded by unmotivated assholes who only took this literature course because writing skills looked good on their résumé. - Just like a certain blonde he’d stealthily watched the whole time.

Steph, or rather ‘Sara A. Anderson’, was looking like she was more than ready to leave when Jason plopped down in the chair next to her. "What the -- Jason?" Steph stared at him. “What are you doing here?”

The reaper shrugged, waving at the teacher who nodded back and erased the board. “I was told there would be cookies.”

"Well, you’re wrong,” she snorted, hoisting her duffle over her shoulder. “Can we go or is there something--”

“Yeah, no, just a sec.” Jason stood. He grabbed his own bag and approached the teacher. “Daryl,” he greeted, taking a bunch of papers from the desk.

Daryl O’Neil looked between them, smiling. “You know each other?”

“Yeah, she’s my brother’s ex or something.” Jason wasn’t really paying attention, scanning the papers in his hand. “You want them done ‘til Friday again?” Friday was the one day Jason really only came to college to hand in the work he’d done for Daryl over the week.

They worked good together for quite a while now, the teacher not being much older than Dick or Babs, and an all around nice guy. Being a teaching assistant did pay well enough to survive and to simultaneously work his _other_ job as well.

Also, it didn’t hurt that English Literature was pretty cool.

“That would be great.”

Jason straightened the papers on the desk and shoved them in his bag. “Alright then, hope at least some of those are worth reading.”

The teacher laughed. “You’re just too good informed yourself. Turn your expectations down a little, we’re still teaching undergraduate here.”

“I don’t have anything against a lack of knowledge, Daryl. I just can’t stand utter bullshit.”

“Waitwaitwait,” Steph interrupted them, pointing at Jason’s chest. “Please tell me you’re not reading my essay?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “If I don’t, how am I to grade it?”

“Oh, fuck, you can’t be serious. If I’d known _you’re_ a TA, I wouldn’t have gone back to college. At least not this one.”

Both Daryl and Jason laughed at her on their way out of the study hall. When the teacher finally went into another direction, Steph shoved her friend with a irritated pout on her face. “You could’ve warned me, you jerk!”

“Could’ve, would’ve, didn’t. Was more fun that way,” Jason shrugged. Over all, Steph was good company. Sure, she still asked a lot of questions, but she actually listened too, and didn’t take any bullshit either. It was refreshing getting told the truth for once.

“So, you’re working here?”

“What can I say?” Jason scoffed. “Reaping is non-profit, isn’t it? Kinda had my share of sleeping on the streets for a lifetime already, if you know what I mean.”

“I kinda don’t.” Steph adjusted the strap of her bag. “The sleeping on the street part I mean. But our job? Not a sacred mission, nothing to really look forward to or motivate us. I get _that_ depressing part.”

Jason dug in his jacket for the keys to his bike, his fingers brushing against a pack of cigarettes instead and, well, that had to be fate, right? Pulling out the smokes, he dropped the bag from his shoulder and nodded to the bike. “You need a ride?”

Steph sat her duffle down next to his, put her hands on her hips and looked up to the sky. “I’m so glad you’re offering. Anyway, what if we didn’t?”

Jason stopped mid-lighting his cigarette. “Didn’t what?”

“If we just went on with our lives, not reaping souls, grim reaper stuff. That ever happen?”

Staring at Steph, Jason wondered how much she knew. But she couldn’t... She didn’t... She hadn’t been there yet and Bruce... he wouldn’t tell, would he? He hadn’t told Tim and even Damian and Dick didn’t really know everything. Babs had been close to figuring it out, but she had always been respectful and... she couldn’t have told Steph. But what if there had been notes in her loft? A diary or something?

Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. Not collecting a soul, not reaping it before someone died... “They’d still die,” he gritted out, taking a deep drag. “Their soul would be in their body, but the body would be dead and rot.”

“Huh, sounds icky.”

Jason took another drag, his nails digging into his palm. “Sounds nicer that it is.” Steph was good company alright, but she did ask questions. Questions none of them had answers to or questions Jason just didn’t want her to ask. Tim had been easier, had been... the kid hadn’t really asked questions he hadn’t known the answers to already.

“C’mon,” Jason said, throwing his cigarette on the concrete and stepping on it. “You want a ride, you gotta go to the plaza with me. Hope you’re hungry.”

 

“You won’t fucking believe what happened,” Steph told Tim when they sat down in their booth at Round Robin. For once, Jason didn’t have it in him to sit on another table, not when it was only the three of them.

Tim looked up from where he was writing on his laptop, shooting him a curious look. “I just run around a forest with Dick and Bruce, only to find some idiot protester dying in the middle of nowhere. Chained to a tree. In the middle of nowhere. So I hope you either have a great story, or you do make it quick, I still got work to do.”

Jason smiled a little at the irritated tone in Tim’s voice but let Steph handle the boy. He waved at Delores and leaned back in his seat.

“We can definitely top that!” Steph nudged him. “Say it with me, Timbo: Over. Eating.”

Tim looked sceptical. “Over-eating isn’t really a cause of death, you know? Suffocating or digestive problems or--”

“Over. Eating,” Steph insisted, slapping her hands on the table lightly. “It was a hot dog eating contest _and Jason won!_ ”

Not being able to meet Tim’s gaze, Jason pushed his hands in his pockets and dug for another cigarette. He’d have to go outside to actually smoke it, but it was enough of a deflection not to look suspicious. “This is not a pissing contest, Steph,” he grumbled.

“Well, that’s a shame, cause I’m really good at pissing.” Jason turned his head to the girl beside him. “Off. Pissing people off. OmygodJason, put that eyebrow down right this moment, or I swear to God!”

Laughing with Tim and Steph felt good, easy, and again, Jason was glad it was only the three of them. It was nice actually, none of the other jerks around, a pleasant friend and, well, the little problem he’s developed last year, also known as Tim. Tim who’d kicked Jason’s shin under the table only to smile and mouth a silent ‘sorry’, and Jason really should’ve nipped those feelings in the bud.

“So I guess we’re all done with work for today?” Steph finally asked.

Stopping mid-drink, Tim looked at them across the table. “Not really.”

“But the guy in the forest?”

“Was Dick’s gig. Mine’s--” Tim sat down his glass and pulled a yellow post-it from his pocket. “Some time tonight. 11:47 at the Dixon Docks, Pier 19.”

“The docks?” Jason’s stomach twisted - and it sure as hell weren’t just the 29 hot dogs he’d eaten earlier. The docks were a bad place, especially at night and Tim still was just a sixteen-year old high school drop-out with a much too casual attitude. “Please tell me Dick’s given you his taser. Or at least mace.”

Tim rolled his eyes at him and closed his laptop. “Not the first time I’m going there, Jason. And as I was saying to Dick already: No, I don’t need you to hold my hand on the job, and please stop looking like I’ve kicked your puppy.”

Anger settled hot in Jason’s chest. This kid couldn’t be serious. When Jason had still been alive, that place had been a favourite of all kinds of illegal activities. Even now the police still got to the docks at least twice a night - And those were only the incidents that were called in. The chance that this reap was related to something dangerous was high, and Jason really didn’t care that Tim thought nothing of it.

Gritting his teeth, he realized that Bruce probably didn’t think much of sending a teenager to the docks at night either. That bastard could’ve given the reap to any of them, but of course, it had to be Tim. Tiny Tim who made a living by blogging.

It hit him like a bucket of ice then; Tim, who took his camera with him everywhere he went, Tim who _reported_ on his own reaps to make a goddamned living because no one would fucking hire a sixteen-year old high school drop-out for enough money to even pay rent in this hellhole of a city.

Steph seemed to think along the same lines. She stood in her seat, leaning over the table sounding horrified. “Tim, you died in a situation like this! Please tell me you’re at least leaving your camera at home!”

The kid had the nerve to duck and smile a little guilty but otherwise kept packing his bag.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Jason groaned. That stupid asshole really _wanted_ to go to the docks. Knowing him, he’d probably _asked_ Bruce for the job. The one that would be interesting enough for people to pay for a detailed report.

“Your photojournalism is what got you killed,” Steph tried, blinking hard. And... Jason got it. He really did. Tim wasn’t stupid, and sure, reapers couldn’t die, being already dead and healing real fast and all that, but still... Tim had been killed for taking the wrong pictures and no matter how long you were dead, the trauma of dying would always be present to some degree.

When Tim put money on the table to pay for his drink, Jason grabbed his wrist. His fingers closed around the joint that felt more cold and fragile than Jason wanted to believe, so he ignored the ache in his chest and pulled Tim over a little, looking him in the eye. “Pier 19, 11:47, right?”

“Jason.” Tim tugged at his arm. His irritation was obvious, but Jason needed him to confirm.

“Right?”

Tim frowned. “What is it to you anyway?” He got his arm free and slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’m going home now, I still need to write a few things and you better not follow. I don’t need anyone patronizing me.”

He stood, his eyes cold and seething. “Especially not you.”

Jason slapped his hand on the table, hissing and cursing, and all but standing and running after Tim.

Steph sat down heavily, letting her head fall into her arms on the table. “That stupid jerk.”

 

Why the fuck was Bruce okay with this? Indulging the kid never did any good and they’ve had more than four years to get accustomed to the little freak. Jason adjusted the gun he’d shoved under the belt at his back.

The docks never had been a safe place; not for families or kids or even grown men. There were warehouses - used, not even empty - where criminals would meet. Where thugs would pull women and rape them, where nobody could hear her son scream and beg.

And Bruce sent the kid here. Tim. Tiny Tim and his stupid camera.

Down in the city, church bells would ring by now, speak to everyone who took the time to listen. Not that many would. Jason couldn’t hear them. Not here. Not at the docks. The docks were quiet and no one could hear you scream. But he had a watch; you needed a watch in this line of work. He’d still have about 17 minutes to find Tim. To find his reap and to keep the kid safe.

The pier was easy to locate, close to the corner where Jason’d run to every now and then as a kid. The dealers were there. Meeting at the very same place, selling stuff more dangerous than he’d ever been able to buy all those years ago.

They were scum. Still the same scum; new faces, new drugs, but that didn’t matter. Didn’t change anything. Tim would need to get close to them since there were no other people around. One of them would be his reap, one of them would die tonight.

Jason slowed down, careful not to be seen. The freight containers gave him ample place to hide, but not much to watch the thugs. He’d need to get closer. Tim had to be somewhere, had to be getting close and chummy with those guys in a bit. Time was ticking.

As stealthy as possible, Jason pushed himself off the ground, checking his surroundings. If he’d climb the container, he would be able to oversee the place, but he’d also stand out against the night sky, no matter how seldom people looked up. Taking the straight route towards them was no option and on the right there was nothing but water. He turned to the left, easily finding a place to squeeze between containers. The thugs were out of his sight, but so was he. Jason pushed past a few more, sped up in case Tim’d chose the one moment he couldn’t see them to approach. Where was the kid?

A quick glance at his watch confirmed the time. Twelve minutes to go.

Jason didn’t like this. This was too close, Bruce should _know_. He’d been there, _had called Dick, for fucks sake_ , to calm the new kid down.

A shadow passed him, and for a moment, Jason thought he’d seen Tim. He pushed forward, following and cringing when the creature crawled into the light, giving him a smug smile. Graveling. God, how he hated those. Spindly things with teeth like sharks, smelling like dirt and death.

Jason’s heart started to race. Time was running out and he hadn’t seen Tim yet. Maybe he’d chicken out. God, please let him chicken out.

The graveling cackled, laughed at him with its inhuman voice and jumped to the edge of a container. It held on to it with sharp claws, peeking around the metal. Jason needed to be careful. Whatever happened could happen fast.

The creature looked over its shoulder, beckoning for him to come closer, watch from its angle. He moved, his heart racing and bile rising in his throat. He hated them, hated gravelings and their stench. But he moved, moved towards the creature and using the venture point it’d found to watch the dealers. Tim was there. He hadn’t been able to catch the kid before he’d made contact. Fuck.

Those thugs were the usual bunch, a kid with a face like a rat, who was talking to Tim; the bigger guys, sporting gang colours and little to no brains; and last but not least two guys who looked busy. Important. Drug runners or dealers most likely. Jason frowned. There was no buyer, so they’d either turn on their own, or it was due to some external influence.

Like a kid with a camera asking questions and demanding names. Double fuck.

Jason could see the big guys getting angry, their two braincells rubbing together and causing so much friction he could nearly smell the smoke. This wasn’t going well. Tim was no social butterfly, but he made do. His job pretty much needing him to be a degree of subtle Jason would never achieve, but these were no innocent victims, no elderly with an interesting story or knowledge, no police during their donut break. Those were criminals, and Tim never did well with them. They made him angry, defiant. _Annoying_.

Jason eyed the graveling at his side when the thugs started to fidget. He knew from experience what happened if Tim wouldn’t get his reap in time. He knew exactly how important it was for the kid to get the name, to touch the right person, even if that meant those guys would hurt him. A reaper could heal, the dead though...

The graveling turned to look at him. Its eyes dark holes, nothing even close to emotion in them. Those creatures were responsible for the death itself. For the accident or whatever happened to kill a person. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Jason reached back for his gun. If there was no death, there was no soul to collect, right? No one would suffer. Not Tim, not his reap.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see them. See those men shove a small figure around, not minding their words. It hadn’t mattered in that warehouse, wouldn’t matter now. He’d seen the graveling coming for his mother; the bloody and beaten mess that’d taken care of him. Her last yell, more animal than human and a second creature laughing at his face, watching the gruesome scene beside him.

They were monsters and they were responsible. Everything would’ve been better without them. His mother would’ve survived. He wouldn’t have to... _They wouldn’t have forgotten him, right?_

The picture of Bruce standing over him, disappointment clear in his features. Jason raised his weapon, fixing his eyes on the creature. None of this would have happened if they didn’t exist. Tim would be safe, his mother alive. He wouldn’t remind Bruce of failure.

The thugs scrambled for their own weapons, the shot echoing loudly in the droning silence of the docks. Jason didn’t register the bullets whipping past him, his whole body numb. The graveling dissolved, just like their reaps, a mix of smoke and light and warmth when the stench of death disappeared.

Tim dragged him away, his legs moving on their own, stumbling only when the kid pulled him back into the maze of containers. He was angry, screaming in Jason’s face, but the words never made it past his ears. Tim was holding his hand. Just a bit further and they’d be safe and out of danger.

Jason grinned. This was great. This was really great; Tim was here and warm and almost safe. They’d make it. This time, those gravelings hadn’t taken his world from him. Hadn’t taken the person he cared for. He laughed. “This is so fucked up!”

“Yes, yes it is,” Tim growled, shoving him against the container. “Now let me go, I have to get back there.”

Instinctively, Jason pulled him closer, their hands still intertwined. He wouldn’t let go. Not now. “There’s no reap, Tim.”

“Let. Me. Go.” A ricochet grazed the container, startling Tim enough to cease his struggle. “I got to - There’s no time!”

“There is!” Jason laughed, this time meeting no resistance when he pulled Tim close, hugging the kid to his chest. “No graveling won’t come for you, little bird. No job to do here other than run.”

And run they did. Later, Jason wouldn’t know how they made it, what they did after realisation settled in Tim’s eyes, his mouth dropping just a little. Whatever happened, they’d made it back to Jason’s place where he put the kid on the couch, a blanket wrapped around him.

Tim was in shock, staring at him and muttering to himself. “This can’t be. It doesn’t work like that,” he said, but Jason couldn’t stop smiling either. “There will be repercussions, Jay,” he said, but Tim was worth it. This kid, this slip of a boy sitting on his couch, the too big shirt almost falling off his shoulder.

Grinning, Jason sat with him, cradling Tim’s face in his hands. “It’s gonna be okay, little bird. I promise. You’re safe.”

“I,” Tim started, his eyes finally focusing again. “I know. But are you?”

“Go to sleep.” He stroked his thumb over Tim’s cheekbone.

The kid was beautiful. Had always been. And he was worrying for Jason and he’d gotten them out of there. Tim. The tiny kid with his camera.

“Jason, why? Why did you do this?”

He refused to close his eyes, to stop looking at Tim. Tim, alive and gentle, putting a hand over Jason’s. Still, he didn’t want Tim to ask why, didn’t want him to ask how. Jason himself didn’t quite understand, but he was sure of one thing: he’d done the right thing. He’d gotten a second chance, and this time he hadn’t been lying on the ground, had been able to _move_ , to do _something_. And as a result, this brilliant, _good_ kid was okay.

Tim, who’d died much too soon, who acted so much more mature than his biological age.

There would be repercussions, Tim had said. That’s nonsense. Tomorrow at Round Robin, Bruce wouldn't even know. No one would but them; and they’d keep this a secret. Their little secret.

 

  ~~  

 

_Everybody dies. That’s bullshit. Take me, I fell down some fucking stairs or whatever you wanna hear. I died is what I’m saying. Anyway, here I am, alive and kicking. Okay, more-or-less alive. I’m undead, immortal and have to tolerate these other fuck-ups who didn’t make it to the afterlife either._

_That’s my boss._

_Bruce._

_He’s an asshole._

 

“Why?”

“He’s an arrogant philistine who clearly didn’t correctly estimate his intelligence?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You threw a coconut at his face.”

“He told me,” Damian answered, looking like his father missed something obvious. “An onion is the only food that makes you cry.”

 

_Fuck this._

_Name’s Jason Todd and I’m dead. You should thank me for taking your soul before you even realized that fucking bus would hit you. You’re welcome._

_Whatever._

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finally got back to this series. I'm still in love with that AU and I do have more planned. But that's just me.  
> Feel free to comment and/or criticize!  
> Also, stop by on [tumblr](http://allumetterouge.tumblr.com) if you have the time <3


End file.
